


Fever 105

by Eros_thanatos89



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hannibal is a selfish ass, M/M, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Will is delirious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_thanatos89/pseuds/Eros_thanatos89
Summary: The FBI behaviorist stood in the corner of the dining room, eyes rolled back in his head, trembling and flickering like a light bulb shorting out. The peculiar and intoxicating scent radiating from him would not let Dr. Lecter focus. He wondered if the neuro-fever would affect the way Will tasted. Once this idea had seized him, it would not let go.AU version of S1E11 “Rôti”.





	Fever 105

“Darling, all night I have been flickering off,on, off, on. The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss. I am too pure for you or anyone. Your body hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern...Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive. Does not my heat astound you. And my light ."

           ---Sylvia Plath “Fever 103°”

                          

                         * * *

 

    To say that Hannibal Lecter was surprised when Will Graham arrived at his doorstep pouring sweat and pointing a gun at Abel Gideon would have been an understatement in the extreme. The psychiatrist gamely took it in stride, though. He stepped back and waved his unofficial patient inside, swiftly closing the door behind him. Dr. Lecter watched and listened with keen interest as the profiler demanded to know whether his captive was a delusion or not. He noted the way Will teetered on the brink of a complete break with reality, becoming nearly hysterical when he pushed him by asserting that no one was there. Hannibal’s nostrils flared delicately as he studied Will’s scent. The sickly-sweet odor of encephalitis wafted off of him thickly, mingling with the acrid smell of his sweat to form a sort of olfactory heat wave. Once he had extracted the gun from Will’s shaking hand and satisfied himself that his patient was in no imminent danger after observing him closely through his micro seizure, he was content to put Will on the back burner for a moment, to deal with the more immediate issue of Abel Gideon.

    Throughout the conversation with his murderous plagiarist, a discrete compartment of Hannibal’s mind continued to toy with the potential which Will’s illness presented him. The FBI behaviorist stood in the corner of the dining room, eyes rolled back in his head, trembling and flickering like a light bulb shorting out. The peculiar and intoxicating scent radiating from him would not let Dr. Lecter focus. He wondered if the neuro-fever would affect the way Will tasted. Once this idea had seized him, it would not let go.

    Abruptly, Hannibal stood and crossed the room to retrieve a roll of duct tape from a bureau drawer. Keeping the gun trained on Abel to discourage any attempts at escape, Hannibal proceeded to wrap his wrists,ankles, and chest to the chair with the tape. “Forgive me, Abel,” he said smoothly, “but before we continue our discussion, there is another matter I must attend to.”

“I won't go anywhere,” Gideon replied drily.

    Hannibal pressed a hand to the small of Will’s back and ushered him out of the room. “Will,” he said firmly, seeking out eye contact with the other man to ensure he was being heard and understood. “Will, you’ve had a seizure. I’m going to take you upstairs so you can lie down.” Will nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Doctor Lecter,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m losing it. I need to rest.” A tremor wracked through Will’s frame and Hannibal clasped a hand at the nape of his neck to steady him. His skin burned against Hannibal's palm and his curls were sodden, as if he’d been caught in the rain. Dr. Lecter steered Will into his bedroom, pressing him down to sit on the edge of the bed.

    Cupping Will’s face in his hands, he made a pretense of again checking his eyes, studying the pulse in his throat. Then he leaned in and kissed Will hard, hungrily. There was a slight difference in the taste of his mouth, Hannibal noted, a subtle copperiness, as if his gums were bleeding. Will made a surprised noise, but sat passively, allowing his mouth to be plundered. Typically, the profiler was quite vigorous when they were intimate, but given his current state, Hannibal was not surprised that he was less reactive than normal. When he pulled away, Will gave him a scolding look.“Hannibal, I don’t think this is a good time.” he said, his voice strained with fatigue.

     “Shhh” Hannibal whispered, peeling off Will's sweat soaked shirt and jacket. Next he removed his shoes and pants, and lightly pushed his chest until he was lying flat on his back. “Just relax,” he urged. He tasted Will's mouth again, his tongue mapping every contour, lapping up as much of that distinct flavor as he could. Will whimpered feebly into the kiss, and flinched when Hannibal caressed his chest and arms. It seemed he was experiencing the ache typical of fever.  Dr. Lecter tested this by gripping his upper arm tightly. Will hissed and swatted at him weakly. “Please, Hannibal,” he whined, that note of near hysteria creeping back into his voice, “I need to sleep. Just let me sleep.”

     “I'm not stopping you,” Hannibal said. He began to lick down Will's exposed torso, rolling the briny taste of his sweat in his mouth and delighting in the heat of his skin smoldering against his lips. Will squirmed under him, small grunts and sighs tumbling from his lips. Suddenly, he bolted upright, eyes wide with panic. Hannibal leaned back just in time to avoid being hit in the face.

   “Is he still here?” Will panted frantically. “Who?” Dr. Lecter queried, keeping his tone calm and soothing. Will stared at him, his eyes over-bright, the blue of his irises almost eclipsed by his pupils. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs” he said urgently, “He was here, with me. That's why I came here… Isn't it?” Hannibal placed a hand on Will's thigh. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs is dead, Will” he reassured him, “you are quite safe here.”

     Will shook his head, continuing to fix Lecter with that feral look. “No” he muttered, “something's not right. You're lying to me, Hannibal. Why are you lying to me?” Will's breath was rapid and shallow. Hannibal was surprised, as he often was when Will Graham was involved, at how stubbornly the man clung to the scraps of lucidity left to him. “I'm not lying about you being safe with me, Will” he insisted. “Take deep breaths, you're hyperventilating.” He rubbed small circles on Will's thigh as his patient deliberately slowed his breaths. Hannibal eased him  into a supine position again. Lifting Will's hips gingerly, he slid off his boxer briefs. Will made a small noise of protest at the pressure on his sore joints, but Dr. Lecter paid it no mind, lowering him gently back onto the bed and resuming his tasting. He lapped briefly at Will's hip bones and inner thighs before settling himself between the fevered man's legs and sucking his cock into his mouth. A strangled groan creaked from Will's throat and he tried ineffectively to push Hannibal off of him.

       Dr. Lecter was thrilled that the smell of fever was even stronger in Will's most intimate area, and the taste of his cock, even his precome, was a sort of corrupted overripe sweetness, like fermented honey. He moaned appreciatively;  he could feast on this all night. Will was whimpering and thrashing, and Hannibal could not quite discern if his sounds were more pleasured or tortured. Either way, it was music to his ears. He continued to suck fervently at Will's cock, swirling and flicking his tongue over every inch. Before long, Will began to shake violently and orgasmed, filling Hannibal's mouth with his tangy mead-like cum.  He continued his ministrations until he was certain he'd consumed every drop.

   “Good god, Hannibal” Will groaned. He was exhausted;  his body felt like molten metal being pounded by a smith's hammer. The orgasm was good, but he barely had the energy for it, and even the lightest touches of Lecter’s fingers and tongue felt as if they would leave bruises. Hannibal hummed with pleasure. However, his curiosity, and his appetite, was still not completely satisfied.

        Tenderly, he rolled Will over onto his stomach, making sure his head was turned to the side so his breathing wouldn't be impaired. He kissed down Will's back, savoring each tremor and hitch of breath that accompanied his attentions. He felt almost drunk on the scent and flavor of infection. When he reached the swell of his ass, he paused for a moment to simply press his face against its heat, like a Japanese lantern. He suckered his mouth onto the febrile flesh of Will's rump, firmly enough to leave marks. His delirious patient wriggled limply beneath him, keening thinly. Hannibal's tongue swiped over Will's entrance, causing his ass to clench. Persistently, he pushed Will's cheeks apart, dipping his tongue into the tight ring of muscle. Here, too, he was gratified to note a slight shift in flavor. His tongue explored thoroughly, as he sought to find and catalogue each altered note on his palate. His Will was a toothsome morsel indeed, fevered or otherwise.

     After Will came a second time, Dr. Lecter reluctantly relented. “Damn you, Hannibal” Will grumbled, without energy. He smiled and kissed Will's sweat beaded temple. “Shh. Rest now” he whispered. He chuckled to himself when scant seconds later, the cadence of Will's breath deepened and evened in unconsciousness. The profiler looked utterly spent, his features finally smoothed, almost beatific in sleep. Hannibal took the opportunity to grant himself his own release, stroking his neglected and aching cock until he came, spilling his semen on Will's back because, well, he couldn't complain at the moment. He liked the look of his cum on Will's skin--proprietary. Like a brand.  

   Briskly, Hannibal tidied himself and returned to the uninvited guest trapped at his table. He took his time psychologically needling at Abel Gideon about his identity crisis before cutting him loose and sending him on his merry way to find Alana Bloom.  Hannibal checked his watch and opted towards mercy, allowing Will a few more precious minutes of sleep.

  But, it wouldn't do to give Gideon too much of a head start. Before too long,  Hannibal returned to the bedroom to rouse his patient. “Wake up Will,” he whispered in the sleeping man's ear. He shook his shoulders gently until Will's eyes opened and fixed blearily on him. Hannibal pressed a towel soaked in cool water to Will's back and, somewhat grudgingly, wiped the sweat and semen from his skin before helping him back into his clothes. “Drink,” he ordered gently, pressing a tall glass of water into Will's hands. It surprised him, again, how resilient the man was as he made his way down the stairs without any help.

     Hannibal made a show of setting his car keys on the table next to Will's gun and announcing his worry for Dr. Bloom's safety before leaving the room to fetch his coat. He waited until he heard the click of the door closing before striding to the window to watch Will's unsteady progress through the snow.  “Now, little mongoose, it's time to catch yourself a snake” he murmured fondly.

     Will's silhouette receded until it was almost completely swallowed in darkness. But in Hannibal's mind's eye, he blazed like a flame against the night. It would be very interesting indeed to see the outcome of this little experiment. At his core, Hannibal was quite certain that whatever else might unfold, this highly unusual FBI agent would return to light up his dark doorway. He looked forward to that greatly.

      

   

 

**Author's Note:**

> All throughout Will's arc with encephalitis in season 1, the Sylvia Plath poem which I excerpted in the beginning kept coming to mind, so I knew I had to do something with it. And since Hannibal is a selfish jerk, I figured he would gladly take full advantage of Will's compromised state. 
> 
> It doesn't show up in this fic, but I also just loved Jack Crawford's complete confidence in Will's recovery, since he managed to shoot down Abel Gideon even with a fever of 105. And that high degree of fever worked perfectly with the Plath poem :)


End file.
